Mopping Up:
the activity of dealing with a small number of people, problems, etc. that remain after most of them have been defeated or solved.
“Oh my, what a f’ing mess. What to do? “
Joe had been walked out of the tavern on 26th Street alive. Everyone in the bar had seen him on his own two feet, well sort of on his own two feet. He was dead now. Dead as a doornail, whatever the hell that meant. But nobody knew. Yes. Nobody knew nothin, as usual.
Now I had to deal with the problem. Joe was a nice guy. An old timer who had paid his dues. He survived the cancer even. So, he couldn’t talk right. The throat thing and all. His secretary had to clean out his throat twice a day with tweezers and he talked through the whole there, lookin at you like a third eye. It was a disgusting mess, if you asked me, but nobody asked. They just told me to take care of business.
Personally, I thought not being able to talk right was not only penance but a good thing. You couldn’t say nothin wrong because nobody’d understand you. But what the f did I know. I was only the mop- up guy.
Somebody somewhere had been pissed off by the little Dago, and it was my job to make it clear you didn’t f with DeGano.
Nobody knew nothin. Nobody said nothin. When the FBI investigated, all the secretary said was, “Here’s his files. I don’t know nothin.”
“Who’s Marco, “the FBI guy asked.
“Marco? Marco’s only the mop- up guy.” He don’t know nothin, but feel free to ask.”
— Mugsy
the activity of dealing with a small number of people, problems, etc. that remain after most of them have been defeated or solved.
“Oh my, what a f’ing mess. What to do? “
Joe had been walked out of the tavern on 26th Street alive. Everyone in the bar had seen him on his own two feet, well sort of on his own two feet. He was dead now. Dead as a doornail, whatever the hell that meant. But nobody knew. Yes. Nobody knew nothin, as usual.
Now I had to deal with the problem. Joe was a nice guy. An old timer who had paid his dues. He survived the cancer even. So, he couldn’t talk right. The throat thing and all. His secretary had to clean out his throat twice a day with tweezers and he talked through the whole there, lookin at you like a third eye. It was a disgusting mess, if you asked me, but nobody asked. They just told me to take care of business.
Personally, I thought not being able to talk right was not only penance but a good thing. You couldn’t say nothin wrong because nobody’d understand you. But what the f did I know. I was only the mop- up guy.
Somebody somewhere had been pissed off by the little Dago, and it was my job to make it clear you didn’t f with DeGano.
Nobody knew nothin. Nobody said nothin. When the FBI investigated, all the secretary said was, “Here’s his files. I don’t know nothin.”
“Who’s Marco, “the FBI guy asked.
“Marco? Marco’s only the mop- up guy.” He don’t know nothin, but feel free to ask.”
— Mugsy
Sounds like modern politics.
ReplyDeleteShort and not-so-sweet. Great character! ---Macoff
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